


Apologia

by mrsredboots



Category: Lord Peter Wimsey - Dorothy L. Sayers
Genre: F/M, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Shellshock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 11:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21445423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsredboots/pseuds/mrsredboots
Summary: Mervyn Bunter rethinks his relationship with Harriet Vane once he gets to know her better.
Relationships: Harriet Vane/Peter Wimsey, Mervyn Bunter/Harriet Vane/Peter Wimsey, Mervyn Bunter/Hope Fanshaw
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43
Collections: Yuletide 2019





	Apologia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someitems](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someitems/gifts).

With hindsight, I was extremely stupid. I realise now that I had never really observed a marriage, happy or otherwise, since my own father had died before I was five years old, and my mother had never remarried. So how could I have known how happy it was possible for a marriage to be? Of course, it didn’t help that her ladyship had kept his lordship dangling on a string for over five years, and on occasions made him so miserable that I couldn’t help disliking her for doing so. Once they really were engaged, I began to dread the marriage, and the changes it would inevitably bring, and got to the point when I wondered whether I should just give in my notice and have done. But I decided not to. If his lordship wanted me to leave, he would undoubtedly tell me so, and meanwhile, my job was to stifle my dislike of Miss Vane, as she then was, and to serve her, as well as him, to the best of my ability. One of the first things a servant learns is to stifle his or her own emotions, and never to express them before their employers.

I was jealous, of course, too. I didn’t realise – I didn’t know – that love expands. I thought that as he loved Miss Vane and wanted her, he would no longer want me. I don’t know whether he loved me. It is not my place to speculate. But I do know that he would have found it difficult to manage his life without me, particularly in those first years. And I do know that I loved him. Not physically, of course – neither of us cared for that, and while it would not have been my place to initiate any such relationship,had I wished to do so, I was relieved that his lordship did not appear to wish any such thing, and never even hinted at it. Incidentally, although we do not “kiss and tell”, I may say that neither of us ever had any trouble fulfilling our physical needs. His Lordship had many mistresses, but until Miss Vane, he had never given his heart anywhere. I believe there had been a young woman before the War, and she had hurt him so very badly that it was many years before he dared to love again. But I didn’t know him then.

His Lordship – he was “The Major”, then – first came into my life during the War. I ended up a sergeant, but due to my background in domestic service, I had spent much of my time out of the trenches, looking after the top brass, waiting at table and that sort of thing. But in 1915, the Major and I found ourselves buried alive together when our headquarters was shelled. I think it is fair to say that we saved each other’s lives that day, and the Major said that I should come to him as his manservant if we both finished the war alive.

We were both alive, but the Major was in very poor shape when the War ended. Shell-shock, they called it. I was demobbed in December 1918, and spent a few weeks visiting my mother and siblings, who had moved back to Kent, before travelling to Duke’s Denver on 1 January to enter his lordship’s service.

His Lordship was staying at the Dower House with his mother, the Dowager Duchess, who welcomed me and took me to one side to interview me and to explain that he was very unwell due to shell shock, and that he couldn’t give orders or make decisions, giving orders having led, during his War service, to people's being killed. I asked her to leave him to me, and walked into the drawing-room where he was sitting, drew the curtains, and said “Sergeant Bunter, my Lord, come to enter your Lordship’s service, as arranged.”

He was very ill. I am fairly sure that it took him several weeks even to notice that I was there. The Dowager Duchess suggested that he might be better in London, and together we found the flat in Piccadilly and moved him there. But he continued to be passive, accepting everything and making no suggestions as to his comfort. He would have sat in his pyjamas all day if I hadn’t drawn his bath for him and laid out his clothes. At this stage, I was the only servant, although he could have afforded many, as I felt, and her ladyship agreed, that he needed to be quiet.

And then one morning I had taken him a plate of scrambled eggs for his breakfast, and he suddenly said, “Oh, take away these damned eggs, and bring me a sausage!”

“Very good, my Lord,” I said, and such was my delight in this first sign of recovery that I accidentally put the hot plate down on a polished table, necessitating a great deal of remedial work later. Her Ladyship, the dowager Duchess, appeared at the flat at just that moment, to my embarrassment.

But after that, his lordship did indeed begin to get better. He was able to solve the mystery of the Attenbury emeralds, which did wonders for his self-esteem, and gradually began to turn his talents to the detective work for which he would become so famous. He discovered that I enjoyed, and have a talent for, photography, and began to rely on me to photograph objects and scenes that might be evidence. He also began to rely on me to talk to people who it was difficult for him to get close to – I could flirt with cooks and housemaids in a way that would have been impossible for him, and could obtain local gossip from publicans and regulars at the local pub. Later, he employed Miss Katharine Climpson to perform that service in places where even I could not penetrate.

I would say that we had fun, except that convicting murderers can scarcely be described as such. His Lordship enjoyed the puzzle aspect of it, the deduction of who had committed the crime, and why they had done it. But he hated the aftermath, the statements, the trials, and, sometimes, the execution, and every time the nightmares and flashbacks would begin again, and he would be very unwell for several days. At that time, I flatter myself that I became totally indispensable to him, acting as nurse and listener, as well as manservant.

He was able to prove that neither his brother, the Duke of Denver, nor his sister, the Lady Mary Wimsey, had committed a crime which, at one stage, it seemed inevitable that one or other of them had done, and, indeed, the Duke had to stand his trial for the crime. However, his lordship was able to discover that, in fact, the deceased had died by his own hand, and the relief caused him to get extremely drunk, for one of the very few times in his life. I am thankful that I did not often have to look after him in that condition, as it was invariably extremely unpleasant for us both the next day.

We travelled a great deal, mostly in Europe. His Lordship had kept a mistress in Paris, at one stage, and there was Aurelia Silberstraum, who was an opera singer in Vienna. My wife and I had the honour and privilege of hearing her sing “Panis Angelicus” at our wedding, after his lordship and I had helped her escape from Austria before the Anschluss.

But once he had met her present ladyship, then Miss Vane, all such fleeting affairs came to an end. I was very concerned, at first, lest his new-found passion would lead him to make a fool of himself, but he was very, very patient, all through the five years she kept him at arm’s length. During those years, he was recruited by the Foreign Office as a special envoy, and went on several missions for them, often to Rome, but also to wilder spots across Europe. It was my duty and pleasure to accompany him, and I flatter myself that we were sometimes able to act more efficiently as a team than he could possibly have done by himself. And on occasions, he had to be discreetly patched up, such as one time when he broke several ribs falling off a wall into a wheelbarrow.

Eventually, though, Miss Vane accepted his proposal of marriage, and they were duly married in Oxford. My Lord had bought a house for them in Audley Square, but this was undergoing renovations, and her new Ladyship had expressed a desire to own Tallboys, an old farmhouse in a village in Hertfordshire called Paggleham. The happy couple decided that their honeymoon might profitably be spent there, away from the gaze of the society press. I had hoped that they would go abroad, to an hotel somewhere in a fashionable resort, but they wanted to avoid publicity, so a false trail was laid, mostly by me, and I had, perforce, to accompany them to Paggleham. I was unable to visit the property in advance of the purchase, as we had been so dogged by the Press that this proved impossible.

His Lordship had been really kind the night before the nuptials, which were held quietly in Oxford. He alluded to my twenty years’ service, and trusted that I should find myself comfortable in the new household. I stifled my feelings, and told him I hoped I knew when I was well suited, and should endeavour to give satisfaction. I am afraid I said more than was my place, for his lordship was sincerely affected and told me not to be a bloody fool. I managed to get him to bed, but persuading Lord Saint-George, who was in the highest of spirits, to leave him alone was more difficult.

I was told to take the car to a designated meeting-point on the far side of Regent’s Park, where his lordship would meet me and drive us down. I was anxious about the port in the back of the car, for if my lord drove too fast, it would become undrinkable. Had I know than the wretched Ruddle woman would shake it all up anyway, I need not have worried, but hindsight is a fine thing. I was also worried about how her ladyship would cope if all was not as we would have liked; it is, after all, how people cope with the minor discomforts of life that provide a true reading of their characters. I knew I could rely on his lordship to make the best of whatever he found, but her ladyship was still rather an unknown quantity, and I, as I have said, was jealous and apt to dislike her.

In fact, the conditions at Tallboys, the farmhouse, were worse than we could possibly have imagined. As it turned out, Mr Noakes, the former owner, had not broadcast the news of the sale, and nobody had known that we were due to arrive, so there was nothing waiting for us. I had a hamper from Fortnum’s with essential supplies in it, and we were finally able to obtain the keys from a Miss Twitterton, who was Mr Noakes’ niece; and the Ruddle woman, who had “done” for Mr Noakes, made up the beds for us and cleared things up. However, the fires would not light, and nor would the various boilers, so although we managed a kettle of warm water for her ladyship’s ablutions, his lordship and I had to make do with the cold pump. And as his lordship was covered in paraffin smuts, this was somewhat of an undertaking.

It was not until the next day that we discovered Mr Noakes’ body at the bottom of the cellar steps. Nobody had, apparently, missed him during the previous week, as he often went over to his business in Broxford and it was assumed that he had gone there.

It was, of course, his lordship who was able to unravel the mystery and to discover the perpetrator, a local lad called Crutchley. At the same time, the furniture, which my lord had leased for the first month, was taken by bailiffs as part repayment of the debts of the late Mr Noakes, so in the end my lord and his lady finished their honeymoon in Spain.

I was not required to accompany them, so was able to take a few days’ holiday on my own behalf, and then to go back to Tallboys to supervise the replacing of the furniture and setting up the place according to his lordship’s tastes. They returned from Spain and it was obvious that his lordship was unwell again. At the Assizes, a verdict of guilty was brought in, despite the best efforts of Sir Impey Biggs, whom my lord had retained for the defence. Crutchley, however, did not appear to be grateful, and was heard to say that he had done it, and would do it again in a heartbeat. He was, not unnaturally, sentenced to death. My lord was very distressed, feeling that had he not meddled, Crutchley would still be free and not facing death within days.

It was then that my views of her ladyship began to change. She did not weep and wail and demand more of my lord than he was able to give, but waited quietly until he wanted her, and then she was there for him. If he wanted me, instead, she didn’t complain, but waited patiently for his return to her. She obviously understood a little of how he was feeling, and went on loving him and waiting for him despite everything.

Once the execution was over, and my lord had begun to recover his usual good spirits, it was time to move to London and take up residence in Audley Square. They kept a large servants’ hall, including, I am delighted to say, my brother Meredith as butler. He was always known and referred to by his Christian name, since I have always been “Bunter”, or “Mr Bunter” to the lower servants. Meredith was “Mr Meredith” to the footmen and maids.

As there were more servants, I had correspondingly less to do, although I continued to wait on my lord personally and to make sure everything was as he wished it. My lord and I had to go to Rome and Paris a couple of times during that first year, but we were able to keep their time apart to the bare minimum, although we would occasionally arrive home too tired to stand. However, when we were at home there were several hours in the day when I could please myself, and I chose to join a local photographers’ club. And it was there I met Hope Fanshaw.

I had been watching my lord and his lady very closely, and realised that, quite apart from the physical passion they shared, they were good friends, enjoying each other’s company and sharing not only jokes and fun, but also the bad times. And I began to realise that I could, perhaps, share the same sort of relationship with Hope, a friendship coupled with physical passion.

Unfortunately, I couldn’t see how this would work while I remained in his lordship’s service, so very reluctantly I gave him three months’ notice. And then Hope turned me down, saying that there was no way she would marry me if I left his lordship. But how could I bring a wife into his household?

It was her ladyship who came to our rescue. She had met Hope when, due to the fact that we had had an unexpected call to Paris, I had been unable to keep a date with her, and she had called, to my embarrassment, at Audley Square. But her ladyship had been very good to her, and had shown her round the house and apparently made it very clear how much she, as well as my lord, valued me and my service. I was mortified that my personal life should have so intruded on hers, but she appeared to think it of no consequence. And it was her idea to make the old stables into a very comfortable apartment for Hope and me, so that I could remain in his lordship’s service while embracing a marital felicity similar, I hoped, to that which my lord and my lady enjoyed, and Hope could continue with her studio portraits.

We were married at St James’ Piccadilly, with, as I have already mentioned, the Viennese singer Aurelia Silberstraum, as the soloist, and all the publicity that had been denied the Press when his lordship got married. And after a few days’ honeymoon, marked by rather fewer misfortunes than that enjoyed by his lordship, we returned to Audley Mews to start our new lives.

I now know that my initial suspicion and dislike of her ladyship was totally unfounded, and due entirely to my own blindness and prejudice. While she will never be to me what his lordship is, or indeed what Hope is, she is still very dear, and I hope and pray that her forthcoming confinement will be easy and mother and child will both flourish.


End file.
